Worth the Fall (Flirting with Forever #2)

1. Mia

CHAPTER 1

Mia

I f anyone asks, I'm not actually eating my feelings.

The pink-frosted cupcake staring back at me from my pristine oak desk is purely medicinal. A perfectly reasonable response to finding my ex-boyfriend's name at the top of yet another legal contract. Clearly another failure at "setting boundaries" on my part.

"Just one more," I mutter, reaching for what has to be my fourth cupcake of the evening. The sugar hits my system like a shot of pure comfort, momentarily dulling the ache that comes with seeing Cameron's familiar signature.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead, a fitting soundtrack to my sugar-fueled pity party. I shouldn't even be reviewing this contract. When we broke up three months ago, I gave him a list of excellent lawyers, all highly qualified professionals, who hadn't spent twelve years planning a future with him only to have him "need space" while literally taking up my entire couch.

"Miss Mason?"

I quickly swallow a mouthful of frosting as Linda appears in my doorway, her expression way too knowing. My secretary has appointed herself my personal fairy godmother since the breakup, a role that apparently includes an endless supply of eligible bachelors.

"Just wanted to remind you about dinner with my son tonight," she says brightly. "And before you comment, he's only lived in my basement for two years, but he's very responsible!"

I force what I hope is a polite smile. "Thanks, Linda, but I have to work late. These contracts won't review themselves."

She frowns, clearly disappointed. "Again? You know what they say about all work and no play…"

"Makes me a successful lawyer?" I suggest, aiming for light but probably landing somewhere around desperate.

"Makes you lonely," she corrects gently before heading back to her desk.

I let out a long breath, turning back to Cameron's contract. My fingers hover over my phone as I debate whether to call him directly about the concerning clauses I've found or email his legal team. Three months of radio silence, and now I have to be the one to reach out. The universe has a twisted sense of humor.

My phone lights up with a text from Becca, my neighbor and newest friend—one of the few good things to come out of moving to my new place post-breakup.

Becca

Pickleball this weekend? Me, Hector, all work and no play isn't the answer. Maybe it's time to let go of what I thought my life would be and embrace the uncertainty of what could be.

I give the cab driver my new address, not the one I shared with Cameron for five years. As city lights blur past my window, I make a silent promise to myself: no more hiding behind work. No more letting fear of the unknown hold me back.

It's time to take a risk.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the back seat of the vehicle, reminding myself that there’s so much more to life than what I’ve let mine become. When I reach home, I change into comfortable clothes and curl up on my couch—my couch, bought with my money for my new place. Yet another little thing I remind myself to celebrate. Austin's response to my pickleball invitation makes me smile.

Austin

Using me to avoid awkward social situations again? I'm in.

Setting my alarm for tomorrow, I realize I'm actually looking forward to the weekend. Maybe that's what moving forward looks like, small moments of anticipation replacing the constant ache of what used to be.

As I drift off to sleep, I think about how life has a way of surprising you. Six months ago, I thought my world was ending. Now? Now I'm realizing it might just be beginning.

T he next morning brings a flurry of activity at the office. I'm buried in case files, my shoes kicked off beneath my desk and my hair already falling out of my clip when a familiar voice drifts down the hallway, making my heart stutter.

"Actually, I needed to discuss the contract."

I freeze at the familiar sound of Cameron’s voice, a million thoughts racing through my head on how I should handle this.

"Miss Mason," Linda announces unnecessarily, given that Cameron's six-foot frame now fills my doorway. "Mr. Reynolds is here to see you."

I force myself to look up, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my stomach flips. He looks good—he always does—but different somehow. My brow furrows as I scan his new look. His usually clean-cut appearance has been replaced with what I can only describe as hipster-chic transformation. Complete with… is that a man bun?

"Cameron," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite wanting to blurt out, what in the hell are you doing here and what is with the getup? "I was going to email you about the contract but as you can see…" I gesture to the mismanaged pile of files on my desk just as several slip slowly off the corner, falling into a scattered mess onto the floor.

"I thought it would be better to discuss in person." He steps into my office, skirting around the pile of papers on the floor with zero attempt to help pick them up, and I catch a whiff of… sage?

"Plus, Jasmine thought it would be good for us to have some closure."

"Jasmine?" I freeze.

Is he seriously here to tell me he’s already moved on with someone else?

"My life coach," he explains, settling into the chair across from my desk like he belongs there. "She's been helping me navigate my spiritual journey."

I blink, trying to process this new version of the man I spent twelve years with. The Cameron I knew wouldn't be caught dead with a life coach, let alone discussing spiritual journeys. That Cameron wore Brooks Brothers suits and mocked my monthly horoscope subscription, calling anything that didn’t come from a finance bro "woo-woo bullshit."

"Right," I manage. "Well, about the contract?—"

"First, we should cleanse the energy in here." He reaches into his messenger bag. "The negative vibrations are really intense."

Before I can protest, my ex-boyfriend—former captain of his college football team and self-proclaimed king of corporate finance—begins waving sage around my office like some kind of Wall Street shaman.

"Cameron," I try again, coughing through a pungent wave of smoke. "I really think we should focus on the concerning clauses?—"

"See?" He sighs deeply, still waving his sage bundle. "This is exactly what Jasmine warned me about. You're still so focused on the material plane."

I stare at Cameron's contract, my fingers tracing the familiar loops of his signature as I try to remain calm when a memory hits me in the chest. Cameron at the Morton otherwise, I would have been using that trick a long time ago," I agree, then immediately want to kick myself. Way to go, Mia. Lead with the legal humor. Very sexy.

But he laughs anyway, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes my stomach flip. "Listen, you should really put some ice on that. Let me?—"

"Mia!" Becca calls out, finally breaking away from where Austin and Taylor are still locked in each other’s embrace. "Oh my God, are you okay? We should get you home."

And just like that, the moment is ruined. Miguel steps back, and I immediately miss his steadying presence. Who knew getting hit in the face with a pickleball could be both the most embarrassing and most electric moment of my year?

Ugh, maybe I should spend more time with my b.o.b and reestablish some intimacy in my life so I’m not ready to pounce on a total stranger for merely helping me through a crisis.

"I’m fine, I promise," I insist, not ready to end the pickleball date… even if I didn’t get to actually play.

"I am SO sorry about all of this. Are you okay?" Taylor says with genuine concern on her face as she approaches me. "I did not know he was going to kiss me?—"

"It’s okay." I laugh, knowing how confused she must be that Austin just kissed the ever-loving hell out of her in front of me—a woman she knows he’s gone on a date with. "I’m sure he told you we were just friends and you didn’t believe him?"

"Wait." Her brow furrows. "But you dated?—"

"One date," I clarify. "We really are just friends. I’m going to leave it at that because I think it will make sense someday but I’m not sure if it will right now. But you’re not stepping on my toes by kissing him, I promise." I’m sure I’ve only confused her even further, which is evident by the look on her face, but it’s not my place to tell her how Austin feels about her. I know he’ll eventually pull his head out of his ass and explain it all to her—at least I hope he does before he completely ruins everything.

"Okaaaay," she says slowly before turning to Miguel. "Miguel, that was super unprofessional of us?—"

He holds up his hands and shakes his head as if to say don’t worry about it, no explanation needed. "Last time I checked, this isn’t the office and it’s the weekend. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both my friends right now, not my bosses."

She nods politely before grabbing her purse and water bottle from the sidelines and practically sprinting toward the parking lot.

"Taylor. Taylor, wait!" Austin shouts after her, tossing his racket to the side and following after her.

"I think it’s safe to say the game is probably over now."

"I think that’s probably accurate," Miguel says as we both watch Austin and Taylor disappear through the cars.

"You want to head into the clubhouse and get that ice?" He thumbs over his shoulder. "Maybe a Bloody Mary to take the sting away?"

"Thanks." I smile apologetically. "But I should probably get home, get some Advil in me."

"Yeah." He shakes his head. "You’re right. I’m sorry. That was stupid."

"No, I—I would have said yes." My cheeks flush with warmth. "It really was great meeting you and thanks again for the first aid." I gesture toward my now swollen eye. I’m scared to look at myself in the mirror, knowing full well the embarrassment I’ll feel will be diabolical.

"Hey, we’ll give you a ride home." Becca steps up next to me. "I’ve got some arnica cream at my place. When we get back, I’ll bring it over."

"Thank you." I smile sheepishly, glancing back toward Miguel for a brief second.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

"You didn’t; we were just saying goodbye." I turn back toward Miguel. "Anyway,, like I said, thanks again for the assistance. It is appreciated."

"Of course." He takes a step closer. "It’s the least I could do." We’re both standing there, staring at each other for a few seconds. "Hey, why don’t I—" Becca’s voice interrupts us again, cutting Miguel off.

"We should really get going. That eye looks worse by the second." Becca gestures toward my face.

"Right, nice meeting you—again. Feel better," he says as we start walking toward Becca’s car.

"Okay," I say with a wave before turning and walking away.

When we make it to the car, Hector is already waiting for us. I pause momentarily to assess my eye in the reflection. It’s not as bad as I expected but it’ll take more than just a dab of concealer to cover it. I thought for sure I’d look like Slot from The Goonies .

"This is why I run, because running would never betray me with a ball flying a hundred miles an hour directly into my face in front of one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life! This is the last time I’m ever letting you talk me into a group exercise activity," I hiss once we’re out of earshot of anyone else.

"Ohhh, so you think Miguel is hot?"

"So not the point."

"It was actually the entire point. Why do you think I invited you?" She giggles, sliding into the back seat with me as Hector gets into the driver’s seat. "Did you hear that, Hector? She thinks he’s fiiiiiine."

"Of course she does." Hector laughs. "I don’t think Miguel has met a single woman who didn’t have that same opinion."

"Hector always jokes that Miguel got the looks, he got the brains."

"Because being a lawyer is for stupid people?" I joke, knowing damn well that Hector has put his blood, sweat, and tears into his career as an ER physician. Between the two of them, they have enough good looks and brains to give any movie star or athlete a run for their money.

"Babe, swing through the drive-through at Starbucks. It’s the least we can do since we almost blinded our new neighbor and now insulted her intelligence."

I 'm pacing my apartment, phone in hand, while Becca lounges on my couch like she's settling in for coffee and a show. The show being my complete inability to compose a simple text message.

"Just text him," she says, flipping through a magazine with infuriating casualness. "You obviously had chemistry. It was palpable."

"I can't just text him," I protest, making another lap around my coffee table. "I need a reason. Something professional. Dignified. Something that doesn't scream 'Hi, remember me? The girl who face-planted into a pickleball in front of you?'"

She looks at me like I’m making things harder than they need to be—most likely because that’s exactly what I’m doing.

"After the effort you went through to get his number, now you’re going to chicken out?"

It wasn’t exactly a planned-out thought when I asked Austin for Miguel’s number. It was planned for me to drop off a box of fresh donuts yesterday and ask about him how things went with Taylor after the game. A little matchmaking idea Becca and I came up with on our way home from the pickleball courts yesterday.

"I’m rusty. I was with the same guy for twelve years. They didn’t even have texting back when I was newly on the dating scene."

"That’s because you guys started dating when you were fifteen—back then our only mode of communication was passing notes in study hall. Oh, by the way." She giggles. "Taylor didn’t suspect a thing yesterday when I went over to her place. I can confirm that she is also so in love with him it’s not even funny and she was DYING to talk about that kiss."

While I can’t wait to hear more about Austin and Taylor’s gossip, I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown trying to figure out how to sound casual, cool, mysterious, sexy, and professional… and interesting in one single text.

"Help me!" I say almost desperately.

"Okay, okay," she moans, tossing the magazine onto the table and sitting up. "How about… 'Hey, thanks for making sure I didn't have a concussion when my ex-date hit me in the face with a pickleball'?"

"Wait—does he know that Austin and I went out once?"

She shrugs. "Actually, I’m not sure."

I groan, flopping down beside her. "Okay, how about this?" I hold up my phone, displaying my latest attempt:

Draft 1: Hey, it was great meeting you today! Would love to grab coffee sometime! Let me know what day/time works best for you!

"Too eager," Becca declares, not even looking up from her magazine. "Next."

"You’re right, way too many exclamation points." I delete the message and try again. "How about this?"

Draft 2: Thanks for the medical assistance. Maybe I could buy you a coffee as thanks?

"Too formal. Are you asking him out or submitting a medical reimbursement claim?"

"I’m NOT asking him out. I’m trying to sound casual with a touch of professional, like maybe I need to pick his brain about a legal matter!" I say excitedly about my new approach. I type out what I think is the perfect subtle text. "Okay, last one."

Draft 3: So, about that work-life balance thing, any articles or resources you can point me toward to help a workaholic out?

I turn the phone to face her and she immediately shakes her head.

"Now you just sound desperate. And possibly like you're writing a LinkedIn message."

"Now who’s making it more difficult than it has to be?"

"I’m just saying, judging by the way he was looking at you yesterday, I think you’re overthinking it, babe. At the end of the day, you could send him ‘hi’ and I guarantee you he’d still reply back just as excited if you sent him a nude."

"The way he was looking at me?"

"Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. "That man’s eyes were practically inside your colon."

My mouth falls open with a laugh, that familiar heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. "To be fair, it was that damn outfit I wore. Didn’t realize I’d gained a little weight since I bought it and clearly it went to the right place."

"Well, trust me, that man liked what he was seeing. And not to make it too weird, but he gets a very similar look on his face like Hector does right before he wriggles his eyebrows at me and says, 'Quiero devorarte .'"

"What’s that mean?"

"Basically, it translates to 'I want to devour you,'" she says with a devious grin on her face.

I shouldn’t have asked.

Finally, I type out what I hope is a casual, professional message. "Okay, how about: Hey, would love to get your opinion on a legal matter. Coffee sometime this week?” I type out the words in a rush as I say them, trying to get them out before I can second guess it…again.

"Send it," Becca encourages, finally putting down her magazine to watch the drama unfold.

My finger hovers over the button. "Maybe I should?—"

But my thumb slips, hitting send before I can read what I actually wrote: Hey, would love to get your onion on a legal mattress. Coffee sometime this week?

"Oh my God," I whisper in horror, staring at my phone like it's personally betrayed me.

"What? What happened?" Becca leans over to look at my screen. Her eyes widen. "Oh… oh no."

I quickly type.

Me:

*opinion *matter. Sorry, autocorrect! I'd like to discuss a professional, legal matter.

"Well," Becca says after a moment of silence, clearly fighting back laughter, "at least you can't say it wasn't memorable."

I bury my face in a throw pillow, wondering if it's possible to die from embarrassment. "This is why I should have stayed home with my legal briefs. Legal briefs don't have autocorrect. Legal briefs don't betray you with suggestive produce typos."

"No," Becca agrees, patting my shoulder sympathetically. "But they also don't have those brown eyes that can’t seem to get enough of you."

I peek out from the pillow just as my phone buzzes with a response from Miguel. We both freeze, staring at it like it might explode.

"You read it," I tell Becca. "I can't look. If it's a restraining order, I don't want to know."

She picks up my phone, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "Well," she says, drawing out the moment because she's evil, "apparently he'd love to give you his onion on a legal mattress. Coffee this Saturday at eight?"

"Wait, really?" I jump up and grab the phone from her, a smile spreading across my face when I read his response for myself.

Miguel

I’m happy to discuss a professional, legal matter with you. Can I give you my onion on a mattress this Saturday around 8?

Maybe it's the lingering effects of the pickleball to the face, or maybe it's just time, but suddenly I'm laughing—really laughing—for the first time in months. The kind of laugh that makes your sides hurt and your mascara run and your soul feel a little lighter.

And it feels good, really good. As much as I thought I would never get over losing Cameron, it feels good to be excited about something again… about someone.

I’m not sure if this is what moving forward looks like or maybe it’s just a rebound, but either way, it’s a lot better than wallowing in the past. And hey, embarrassing yourself in front of attractive men, sending mortifying autocorrect messages, and learning to laugh about it instead of hiding behind legal briefs and emergency chocolate is a huge improvement as far as I’m concerned.